


I've been holding my breath

by MsPeppernose



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, But only a little, Explicit Sexual Content, Head Injury, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Shrunkyclunks, Steve is a creeper, Stucky Big Bang 2017, Voyeurism, and mostly because he's lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-14 12:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11783202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPeppernose/pseuds/MsPeppernose
Summary: Steve Rogers likes to visit his local coffee shop between missions, and it has nothing to do with the hot barista named Bucky...well, it maybe has a little to do with it. It’s just coincidence that Steve’s apartment is also directly opposite said barista’s apartment meaning Steve frequently has a full view of his living room.It’s not spying, not really, and it turns out to be lucky, because one day he sees Bucky get knocked out. It’s up to Steve to save him...and then think of a reason why he saw Bucky get injured in the first place.





	I've been holding my breath

**Author's Note:**

> Baby's first Stucky Big Bang. 
> 
> Please go check out [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11834067) amazing art work, and make sure to give it lots of love <333
> 
> Endless thanks to @rosiedoestumblr for her beta help and saving this fic from being riddled with typos and bad grammar.  
> Also thanks to @coastingon-potential for encouragement and for listening to me whine about how this fic will never get finished :) 
> 
> I am @thislossofsleep on Tumblr, so come say hi!
> 
> Ps. I know nothing about head injuries so that bit is all made up.

Steve is exhausted, battleworn and pissed off. 

He’s home, fresh from a battle, only stopping at the Avengers tower to change from his uniform. He learned the hard way that going straight to his apartment in his beat up Cap uniform attracts far too much attention for his liking. So he’s showered and in jeans and a hoodie, sent back home for a quick rest before a full debrief. Debriefs are gruelling, having to describe every moment of every thing that happened during a mission. It’s tough at the best of times, and usually those details are ones he doesn’t want to relive at all, but it’s always worse if he hasn’t gotten a little headspace beforehand. 

But when he gets inside his apartment, he’s antsy, still full of adrenaline. It’s nine in the morning, most people are just starting their working day, beginning school or study, and Steve? Well, he’s supposed to have a nap after spending the last eighteen hours battling Dr Doom’s bots with his team of superheroes and master assassins. It’s not exactly a typical morning for most people.

Steve sighs.

After tinkering around his apartment doing nothing of any importance - not even vacuuming or doing laundry is going to calm his active mind this morning, and there’s no possible way he can concentrate enough to sketch - he heads out to get a coffee.

Coffee is normal. Everyday. Regular. Something that almost everyone does. Caffeine, of course, doesn’t have any effect on him, but that’s beside the point. He needs some normality.

There’s a little coffee shop on the corner of his street that he’s passed dozens of times and never gone into. Today, that’s his mission, he decides. 

He pulls on a baseball cap because he’s sure that despite a long shower his hair still smells of smoke and has bits of debris in it, and he goes downstairs and out into the street.

The little coffee shop is cute as a button with lots of personality. There are black and white photos of Brooklyn on the walls, one corner full of squashy couches full of mismatched cushions, a bookshelf completely full of books, magazine and more photoframes. 

It looks a little like someone’s living room, and Steve is quite charmed by it.

It’s busy despite being after nine and therefore past rush hour, but Steve joins the end of the queue.

The huge board behind the counter displays a tempting menu of pastries and coffees and all manner of exotic sounding smoothies and juices. Steve doesn’t care if they have a super healthy superfood smoothie with baby kale and chia seeds, he just wants coffee. Normal black coffee. 

The line moves fast, and Steve sees that there are three people behind the counter; two girls and a guy.

The girl with dark hair is taking orders and ringing them up, the second girl is flitting around in the background sorting orders, clearing the counter top, and the guy making the coffees? Well, he’s possibly the most gorgeous thing Steve has ever seen.

He’s about six feet tall, athletic build and dressed in skinny jeans and a faded tee under a black apron. He’s got dark hair, long enough that it needs to be pulled off his face in a little knot at the back of his neck. That’s not what catches Steve’s eye though. The guy, although rushed off his feet making coffee after coffee, moves with an elegant grace. He’s quick and clearly skilled, and looks as though he’s making coffees by instinct rather than by thinking about it.

Steve orders from the dark haired girl; she’s friendly and full of energy, and when she asks his name for the coffee cup she draws a little flower beside it. 

The hot barista barely looks at Steve when he calls his name, just, “Steve, black coffee, room for milk. To go,” and Steve steps up to take it.

It’s not that he was expecting a marriage proposal with the coffee, but eye contact would have been nice. Then again, isn’t this what Steve wants this morning? Normal. No special treatment or attention. Steve revises that thought, because he sure wouldn’t mind attention from this guy.

He takes his coffee and decides to stroll around the block with it, taking in the sights of his neighbourhood and the normality of people going about their day. By the time he gets back home, he feels more relaxed than before. He climbs into bed and sleeps for four solid hours, which is more sleep than he’s had after any mission.

***

It becomes a thing, Steve’s regular thing. If he gets home at stupid o’clock from a mission or a battle, if he’s trying to just feel like a regular person, he goes and gets a coffee. He tries a couple of other places in the area, but the coffee chains make him feel unsettled and a little depressed, because everything is the same. Strangely enough, cookie-cutter coffee shops don’t really work for him. There’s another little independent coffee place on the other end of his street, but it has no character, no personality, and the coffee is Godawful, so Steve finds himself back in the first place he tried.

It’s the same today; bustling and just as charismatic. Steve feels like one day he’ll sit with his coffee and stare out the window, maybe even bring his tablet with him and read - that seems to be a luxury for people with lots of time on their hands - but today he’s sporting a large bruise on his cheek, so he just wants to take his coffee and go.

One of the girls serves him again, smiling sweetly at him, and the very attractive man who makes his coffee barely acknowledges his existence. Steve actually doesn’t mind one bit.

After a half dozen trips, Steve starts to get adventurous and switches up his order from black coffee to lattes and cappuccinos, coffees with coconut milk and flavoured syrups, even an iced coffee, which, yeah, that’s not really for him. 

One morning, he gets home from a two week mission in Somalia tracking an arms dealer who specialises in modified weaponry. 

It’s early, just after seven, but he heads off down the street with high hopes that the little coffee shop is open. 

It’s just beginning to open up and Steve is grateful.

One of the girls is behind the counter as Steve pushes the door open. The other is nowhere to be seen, and the hottie who usually makes the coffee is bent over one of the squishy couches rearranging the cushions. Steve takes in the sight; the curve of this guy’s ass, the movement of his spine as he reaches over, the washed out t-shirt showing the set of his broad shoulders as he moves. Steve stares until he really can’t justify standing there any longer. He needs a coffee, and maybe, because it’s early, he’ll sit here and be one of those people who stare out of windows in coffee shops, today. 

“Black coffee,” Steve says.

“Coming right up. Hey, so we have new donuts in today - vanilla sugar and filled with cherry jelly. They’re really good!” says the dark haired girl.

“Sure,” Steve says, because why not? Normal people do this too. “I’ll take one of those.”

“To go, right?”

Steve thinks for a second and sticks with his earlier decision. “No. I’ll eat in today.”

“Great. Well, take a seat, it’s quiet. I’ll bring it to you.”

Steve sits in a table by the window. He pulls his baseball cap down low and stares out the window as people go about their business. Minutes later, the dark haired girl - Darcy, according to her homemade name tag - brings him his coffee and donut and Steve settles in for some quality people watching.

Or so he thinks. Because for every minute he spends watching a couple kiss goodbye at a bus stop or an elderly lady walk her tiny little dog, he also spends a minute watching the hot barista.

The guy who started off with the cushions on the sofa also spends a some time sorting the books on the shelf. He pulls out a couple of ragged newspapers and magazines and takes them away - to be replaced by up to date ones, Steve assumes. 

As well as watching the guy do his tasks, he can’t help but notice this tiny mannerisms that crop up again and again. His hair, tied back in a little knot, keeps attempting to escape and the guy keeps pushing it off his face or tucking it behind his ear. 

There’s also the smile. Oh god. 

It’s blinding, lighting up his whole face. It gives him these little crinkles around his eyes that makes Steve’s insides feel warm and gooey and he ducks his head in case he’s caught smiling to himself.

Steve stays until after eight-thirty, until after the store begins to fill up and get busy. He’s watched all manner of people come and go, watched the staff serve dozens of coffees, watched his crush makes jokes and smile with his work mates. No one has noticed Steve, the national icon, sitting quietly in the corner, and honestly, it feels nice.

*

“Bucky! Bucky?” The dark haired girl who often serves Steve is behind the counter serving  
alone. There’s a queue of about ten people waiting for coffees and she looks like she’s having an argument with the register.

“Bucky, I swear to God, if you don’t get out here and help me with this piece of junk, I’m giving everyone free coffee!”

She looks frazzled, but a half a minute later Manbun arrives at her side and she moves to let him work on the register. So, his name is Bucky, then. Steve has no idea what kind of name Bucky is, but then again Steve has learned all sorts of new names that didn’t exist in the forties. Bucky opens it up and un-jams the receipt roll that’s been stuck and causing all the problems, making it look easy peasy. The dark haired girl sticks her tongue out at him and he grins.

“Can’t afford to give everyone free coffees today but feel free to be generous with the loyalty card stamp to make up for the deal with our shitty register.”

She gives him a mock salute. “On it, boss. But next time the register jams I am giving free coffee away.”

“Deal.”

Steve waits in line and gets his coffee. The dark haired girl takes his order and gives him three stamps on his loyalty card, even though he never cashes them in anyway. Bucky makes his coffee, and Steve’s not sure if it’s better or worse to know Bucky’s name now. If his crush has a name it makes him more human, more real. He watches Bucky steam milk for his latte, concentration written all over his face, long, thick eyelashes and dark stubble a stark contrast to smoothe skin. Then he snaps himself out of his as Bucky places his cardboard cup on the counter and looks into Steve’s eyes briefly and says, “Latte?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. The butterflies he gets in his chest when Bucky’s finger brushes so briefly against his during the exchange of coffee only reminds Steve of one thing; he really needs to get himself a life.

*

Steve has a mission, a fucking long one. He and the team are sent to London to check out a group of gangsters that are suspected of dealing in weapons with Chtauri based tech. It’s nothing that should be out there, and Steve sure as hell doesn’t want them falling into the wrong hands.

On a mission like this, there’s a fair amount of surveillance before they can go in and take down the enemy. It’s boring but necessary, and it usually gives Steve some quiet time with the rest of his team that he might not get otherwise. 

Steve and Natasha are holed up on the sixth floor of an abandoned building across from the supposed ring-leader’s nightclub. It’s where he spends most of his time and it’s where they’re most likely to see him interact with possible buyers.

“What about her?” Natasha says. Steve can hear the tease in her voice. The girl in question is a slim twenty-something girl in a short skirt and high heels. She’s unlikely to be the buyer, but Steve knows that’s not what Natasha is asking.

“No,” he says simply.

“Why not?”

“I don’t think she’s the buyer, I think she’s one of the leader’s girls.” As if Steve could really dodge Natasha’s questions if he tried.

“But do you think she’s attractive?”

Steve looks again. She’s an incredibly beautiful girl, but not really what Steve’s into right now. “Sure. I guess.”

“You guess? Sheesh, Rogers. Calm down.” 

Steve smiles at Natasha. “She’s very beautiful.”

“Yeah, she’s gorgeous. What about her?” she asks, indicating to another girl, “Or her?”

“Nat,” Steve starts, but he doesn’t really know where he’s going. “I’m not...I’m not really interested. These girls are pretty and all, but not really what I’m looking for. I don’t know.”

Steve’s not really used to talking about his personal life, not because he doesn’t want to, but because nobody ever asks. No one ever seems to want to pry. Sure, Tony will rib him over girls, but it’s all just a joke. Natasha is the only one seemingly brave enough to stick her nose in. Steve’s grateful for her.

“You’re not into girls?”

“I am. I just. Not those ones.”

Natasha blinks and gives him a half smile like a very pleased cat. 

“A particular girl.”

“A particular someone,” Steve finally admits.

“I see. Rogers, you’ve been holding out on me. A guy?”

Steve looks at her and knows that it’s useless to try to lie to Natasha. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know,” Natasha says, though there’s no way she could know. “Good for you.”

“Thanks. I guess I’m still getting used to it being okay to talk about that sort of thing. Back before the war it wasn’t something that was talked about. The Howlies knew, I think, but it’s not something that anyone went around bragging about.”

“You’ve never been with a guy?”

“I have, but it was complicated back then. Everything had to be secretive and in the shadows. Now? I can’t believe how much the world has changed. It’s amazing. It’s just different, you know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Steve shrugs. He knows why he didn’t say anything and it’s because he doesn’t have a lot that’s just his. Everyone seems to know everything about him. He has wanted to keep this to himself until he’s ready to talk about it, and then share it with those he trusts. It never quite felt like the right time before, but now it does, and he’s glad it’s Natasha who he’s opening up to. Besides, he never had reason to tell because he never found a guy to tell people about.

“No one on the team really talks about it,” he says, deciding that’s as good an answer as any, right now. 

“About their sexuality? No, I guess they don’t.”

“Except Tony,” Steve says, half jokingly, hoping it will break the sombre mood.

“Yes, well Stark’s not very good at keeping things to himself in that respect. He’s like a horny dog ready to hump the coffee table”.

Steve laughs, feeling a relief at telling Natasha. He probably should have done this a long time ago.

“Are you seeing someone?”

“No.” It’s the simplest answer. Steve, of course, sees the person he has a crush on almost every day, but it’s not like they see each other; just Steve being a little creepy and weird.

“But you want to.” And it’s not a question.

“I guess,” Steve says. But there’s movement across the street and an Aston Martin pulls up, a car far too flash for this part of London unless it were to belong to someone with stupid amounts of money. Like an arms dealer, for example. If Steve were a betting man, he’d bet a whole lot that this is the guy they’re after, so he gets on the com and says as much. The mission is a go now that they have more of a lead, and Natasha will have to continue to snoop into his love life another time.

***

Steve’s really fucking pleased when he gets home after that mission. He’s been away for three weeks in total, between the back and forth between DC and London and finally getting back to New York. His apartment looks the same, of course, but it never feels quite like home until he’s been back a day or two. He looks in his fridge and of course his milk has gone off and his cheese is mouldy. He needs groceries. 

He looks at his watch and it’s short after eleven. He has a debrief at three o’clock so he has some time to kill and for once he grabbed a couple of hours sleep on the Quinjet so he doesn’t feel like napping.

As usual, his next port of call is the little coffee shop down the street. He figures it’s easiest to get something there first, and truth be told he can’t face grocery shopping, deciding he’ll do an online grocery order instead, just like Natasha showed him how to do.

The coffee shop is quiet enough that Steve can sit in, ordering a large latte, a bear claw and a pastry from Darcy. He sits in the corner and watches as the world goes by. Mostly. He also watches Bucky. Of course.

Bucky’s sitting at another table today, hair down and poring over a laptop and a pile of papers. He seems to be doing invoices or accounts or orders or something, Steve assumes. One thing is for sure, he looks absolutely adorable chewing on the end of a pen.

Steve takes a bite of his bear claw - which is fresh and warm and really fucking good - and glances over at him from under the brim of his cap.

Buckys wearing a navy blue tee that’s stretched across his chest and shoulders in a very unfair way, and hangs loose at the waist. Steve has a few shirts that fit the same way, but he never really thought about how _distracting_ they look. He makes a mental note to be more discerning about when exactly he wears his in future.

But Bucky looks amazing, more relaxed than usual, the set of his shoulders in that stupidly tight shirt says it all. There’s something in his face too, the set of his jaw, no furrow in his brow. It looks good on him, and Steve thinks he should take a leaf out of Bucky’s book and take it a little bit easy, even if Bucky’s still actually working. He makes his way through the list of paperwork or invoices or whatever they are and by the end the furrow is back in his brow. But then Darcy shows up and hands him a coffee.

“‘Bout ten minutes ‘til the rush begins. You good?”

He gives her a warm smile and nods.

She places the coffee on the table beside his laptop and put a hand on his shoulder. “Lotta numbers, huh?”

“Yeah, well. Gotta make the numbers go into these little columns.”

“It looks pretty,” she says, pointing to the laptop screen, presumably a spreadsheet. The grin on her face says she’s obviously mocking him, but he takes it well.

“That’s the idea!” Bucky says, and gives her a blinding smile that sends a shiver through Steve. He ducks his head and concentrates on his coffee instead, deciding to drain the last inch and take off before rush hour begins and there’s a greater chance of him being recognised.

When Steve looks over at Bucky again, Bucky is balancing the stack of papers on the now-closed laptop in one hand, his coffee in the other and making his way into the back room. 

Steve stays for a just a minute longer, hoping to see Bucky one more time, nursing the dregs of his coffee, and when he finally can’t justify sitting over an empty table, he leaves, reluctantly.

*

Steve’s been thinking about talking to Bucky. 

Not asking him out, Jesus wept, he’s not ready for that yet! But he’s contemplating striking up some sort of small talk as he places his order or gets his coffee. He always chickens out with a lame excuse; the store is too busy, he’s running late, Bucky looks stressed. It doesn’t matter. Steve always writes it off as _not today_.

But on this day, on his way to get a coffee, Steve decides that it will finally be the day he talks to Bucky. It’s pretty warm out, so maybe he can talk about the weather. Even if that’s the lamest thing, it’s something.

So, Steve orders a hazelnut latte from Wanda and goes to wait at the other end of the counter to where Bucky is making coffees for the three people ahead of him.

Bucky is fast as ever, looking like he’s doing many different things at once. He has two takeaway cups and a large mug lined up and he’s making a different coffee in each of them. He’s got a carton of soy milk in one hand which seems to be for the first takeaway cup. Then he’s adding three pumps of vanilla syrup to the next and steaming milk and brewing coffee and Steve can barely keep up watching him.

He does see the next bit though, and it’s almost in slow motion. 

Bucky adds a fourth cup to his line-up. Steve assumes that that’s his one, seeing as he’s next. It just takes the slightest movement of Bucky’s hand to send the fourth cup toppling over, and then there’s hot, milky coffee all over the floor and all over Bucky’s jeans. Then while in the process of trying to save that one from spilling over completely, he knocks over a second and third one. His apron, pants and sneakers are toast.

Bucky swears. And makes a muffled groan. Steve knows that the hot coffee must be seeping through his jeans to his skin and really feels for him. Moreso because the commotion has drawn a lot of attention from the patrons, and Bucky looks pissed off as well as coffee-soaked.

“James Buchanan Barnes! Do you have cabbages for hands? How did you knock over _three_ coffees. I think that’s a record!” Darcy calls. 

_James Buchanan Barnes_ , Steve thinks. That must be where the _Bucky_ comes from. Maybe he has a regular name after all. 

“I know, I know,” Bucky says. He grimaces as he grabs paper towels and begins the arduous task of mopping up all the coffee and milk he spilled.

“Nice moves,” she says. There’s a little tease in her voice, one that might suggest that spilling hot coffee on one’s self is just an occupational hazard and maybe one that’s an inconvenience to colleagues. The sympathetic smile she gives him tells Steve that she’s been in Bucky’s position, too. “You want me to take over barista duty so you can go change? Do you even have a change of pants? Because if you don’t I can lend you my ripped up skinny jeans.”

“Yeah. I don’t think I’ll fit into your jeans.” Steve takes the opportunity to let his eyes travel over Bucky’s body, his thick thighs and curvy ass. There’s no possible way he’d squeeze into Darcy’s jeans - Darcy is tiny in comparison. “I’ll see if I can clean ‘em up a bit. Can you guys hold the fort?”

Darcy takes over making coffees, Wanda takes over taking the orders, and Bucky disappears into the back room.

It means that Steve’s chance to talk to Bucky is gone for today, and though Darcy gives him a wink as she hands him his coffee, it’s obviously not what Steve was hoping for.

Steve has an idea and, as silly as it sounds, seeing the frown on Bucky’s face means Steve wants to fix it. 

He heads home with his coffee - which Darcy makes for him after Bucky disappears into the back room - pulls open his wardrobe and rifles through a pile of unworn clothes; some he bought himself, some he bought under duress from Natasha, and plenty he’s been given. He pulls out two pairs of pants; one pair of black slim fitting jeans and one pair of navy sweatpants. He hopes that one of them will fit Bucky. He folds them and puts them into a little black duffle bag that he has in his closet, too.

He scribbles a quick note and heads back down the street.

With his baseball cap pulled down low and the collar of his shirt up, he quickly places the bag on the floor just inside the doorway of the coffee shop, and then takes off before anyone spots him. 

The note reads _For the barista - Hope this makes your coffee-soaked day better!_ and even though Steve lost his chance to talk to Bucky, lost his nerve to flirt with him, he feels good about his day after that, happy to do something nice for someone, for Bucky. (Even if he knows he has no way to know if the pants ever reach Bucky, no way to know if someone else found the bag or if it ended up in the trash, he still feels good about it.)

He thinks he should use this as fuel to talk to Bucky another day, perhaps use the incident as a way to strike up conversation, even admit that he passed on the pants, though when Bucky makes him a coffee next time, he can’t quite bring himself to. The only things Steve can think of are along the lines of _So, spill any coffees today?_ or _So, you and I seem to be the same size pants!_

It feels all wrong and weird and Steve just keeps his mouth shut in the end.

He does, however see Bucky wearing skinny black jeans that look suspiciously like the ones he left for him, so it seems that the gift was found. That makes Steve super happy because it means he helped. And of course Steve is used to helping, but that’s in a punching, shield-throwing, alien-hunting sort of way, and not like this. 

This is soothing someone, not lessening trauma, and it feels really good. The fact that it’s _Bucky_ just amplifies everything and Steve ends up smiling to himself for days.

*

As soon as Steve ends up on surveillance duty with Natasha again, he knows she’s going to bring up his whole wanting to date the same sex _thing_. They haven’t spoken about it since their last mission like this together and he’s grateful for it. He trusts Natasha and it’s for a reason. For him to tell her and her alone means she’ll keep it to herself for as long as he asks her to, and also that she won’t bring it up unless they’re away from listening ears.

“So how are things going with that guy you’re not seeing?”

Steve grimaces. “I’m still not seeing him.”

“Okay. Let’s start small,” Natasha says. She’s staring out the window, playing with a butterfly knife, twirling it, folding and unfolding it in her fingers. “Where did you meet him?”

It’s a simple question, one that he should be able to answer, but he knows as soon as he does that Natasha will carefully pull out more information, question by question, piece by piece.

“At a coffee shop,” Steve says reluctantly.

“Oh, how very New York!” she says. “How did it happen?”

“We haven't really met, not as such.” When she looks at him skeptically, he elaborates. “He works in this coffee place near my apartment. I think he owns it actually. I go in there after missions. It’s quiet. I don’t get recognised. I like it. But he’s there, all the time, and he’s cute, and god I sound like such a fucking stalker, I know.”

“You don’t sound like a stalker, Steve! It’s a crush. It’s sweet. Have you talked to him?”

“I’ve ordered a coffee from him.”

“Anything else?”

Steve shakes his head feeling a little silly.

“You don’t want to?”

“It’s not that. It’s -- this little coffee shop is awesome, you know. It’s a real nice atmosphere, good coffee. If I was to ask this guy out - Bucky is his name, by the way - if I ask him out and he says no, then I lose it all. I lose my crush, I lose my good coffee and I lose the place I hide in, where no one comes and bothers me. And it’s the potential, you know? If I don’t do it, there’s all this potential still there. It’s like an unscratched lottery ticket - once I scratch that ticket, it’s done.”

She gives Steve a little smile and stops flicking her knife. She reaches out and gives his shoulder a squeeze. Steve is sure that she was going for supportive, but he feels a little defensive about it anyway. 

“Alright, I get that. It’s a crush, no pressure for you to ask him out, but you know it’s a possibility, right? You know he might say yes? That he might be thrilled you asked him out first? But I get it. Enjoy the crush. It’s fun.”

Steve gives her a lopsided smile, grateful to have her as a friend.

“And now that I know you’re into guys too I have even more dates I can set you up on, so bear that in mind.”

She’s teasing him and he knows it. He rolls his eyes theatrically. 

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.” Though he really, really won’t. Any dates he’s let Natasha set him up on have been a disaster. He tried to retaliate by threatening to set her up on blind dates, only for her to reply that she and Barton have been a thing for quite some time.

The rest of their surveillance is a bust, and they’re holed up for four more days before Headquarters radio in that their target has been spotted on a different continent entirely and that the intel they were first given is very far off the mark. 

“So, you wanna get a coffee or have you got somewhere to be?” Natasha asks.

Steve gives her a look because he knows what she’s up to. She might be a world-class spy but when she’s trying to organise Steve’s love life, he can read her like a book.

“I have nowhere else to be, so I can go get coffee. I’m sure you have a suggestion as to where we should go.”

She links her arm into his. “Indeed I do, Rogers. See you in half an hour and we can get a cab to your favorite coffee shop. I need to get a look of this guy.”

Steve doesn’t even roll his eyes at her, he just goes to the locker rooms and has a hot shower, as hot as he can stand to wash the mission away, and then dresses in fresh clothes that have been provided for him (clothes he actually likes and fit perfectly, he’s always impressed with what goes on in the background of Avengers tower - the staff here are apparently magical).

He and Natasha grab a cab to Brooklyn in near silence, and he does enjoy that about their friendship; no need for small talk just for the sake of it. Steve asks the driver to let them off at his apartment block, preferring that over arriving right outside the coffee shop. He doesn’t want to attract any extra attention to them. 

The coffee shop is not too busy, with a line of just two customers in front of them. 

Natasha spends quite some time looking at the board on the wall, looking like she’s trying to decide on what she wants. 

It’s Wanda who serves them, looking at Natasha first.

“Chai latte, please. And I’ll take one of those strawberry tarts there,” she says, pointing to a glazed tart in the display.

Wanda rings it up and says, “For here, to take out?”

Natasha turns to Steve, looking up at him with big mischievous eyes. 

“To go,” he says, at the same time as Natasha says, “For here.”

Natasha smiles that slow, cat-like smile and says. “To go, but we’ll probably sit in for a little while first.”

Steve knows that she wants to stay to get a good look at Bucky, and Bucky is nowhere to be seen. That means he’s either in the back room or out of the store entirely. Steve’s not sure if he’s happy or sad about it. 

Steve places his order and Darcy makes their coffees. And then they sit - at the window table that Steve prefers, the one that’s both great for people watching and also gives him a great view of Bucky.

“So, this place is cute. I see why you like it.”

“It has good coffee, too.” Among other things.

By the time Steve has wolfed down his muffin and Natasha has daintily eaten half of her strawberry tart, there’s still no sign of Bucky. Steve’s more than halfway through his cardboard cup of latte when Bucky appears behind the register. 

Steve almost chokes on his coffee, his conversation with Natasha trailing off as he stares without meaning to.

She picks up on it, of course, and with a very discreet head turn, gives Bucky the once over.

Her response to Steve is a sly smile and the arch of a perfect eyebrow. “Yeah, I can see why you like it here,” she says quietly. 

“Like I said, good coffee.” 

“Something like that,” she purrs.

He returns her smile. Natasha approves, it seems, not that it really matters, not that it would stop Steve from dating him. Not that Steve actually has any hope of dating him.

They leave shortly after. Bucky’s disappeared into the back room, the store quiet enough that he doesn’t need to be there, so Steve and Natasha aren’t even missing him doing something incredibly sexy like grinning or playing with his hair, anyway.

“I get it now, Rogers. Good for you. If I were you, I’d be asking him out.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” he says. Natasha is fearless in all aspects of her life and Steve has a feeling that if it were her that had a crush on Bucky they’d already be dating by now. He doesn’t want to think about it.

***

Steve’s barely home a half hour before he’s showered and heading down the block to the coffee shop. He’s barely slept in the last forty-eight hours, a sting that turned out to be nothing, and he wants a little bit of normality.

He gets a large black coffee and two large cinnamon buns. Darcy serves him and Wanda makes his coffee. Bucky’s behind the counter too, but he’s on the phone looking worried and exhausted. Steve wants to reach out and ask what the matter is, but he can’t, he just takes a seat at a table in the corner.

“Are you sure?” he hears Bucky say. “How long will it take?” He sighs, running his hand through his hair. “What about-- okay. Thanks.” he hangs up the phone and continues staring at it. “Thanks for nothin’,” he mumbles.

“No news?” Wanda asks. 

“Nope. Landlord seems to be dragging his feet. I feel like he’s going to use this as an excuse to get us all out so he can jack up the rent.”

“But you had a break in, hardly your fault-”

“No, but when half the apartments in the area are getting hit he can use it as an excuse to tighten security,” Bucky says, “and he wants to get us all out so that he can renovate, change locks on windows, replace doors yada, yada, yada. I’m assuming his plan is that most tenants will find somewhere new if he takes long enough, then he can jack up the price and get new people in.”

 _He can’t do that!_ But Steve can’t say a thing, because then Bucky would know that Steve’s been eavesdropping. He feels his body tense though, and he’s very uneasy about the whole situation. 

“Any word from the cops on the stuff that was stolen?”

“Nope. Not a word,” Bucky says sadly. “It’s not even that much stuff, it’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is!” Wanda says. “Where are you staying?”

“A buddy’s place for the last couple nights ‘cos his roommate was away, but he’s back so I’m thinking I’m gonna crash here.”

“In the store? You cannot do that!” says Darcy. “No! Nah huh. Where are you gonna sleep?”

“The back room? The sofa in the corner? Doesn’t matter. I just need a place to sleep for a couple days ‘til I get a new apartment. I don’t even care about going back to my old place. It was far away and small and now I know the landlord is a douche so I don’t wanna give him my money anyway.”

Bucky sounds sincere but with something else behind it. Steve’s never been broken into, not even back before the serum when when he was tiny, but he’s seen the aftermath, seen countless people having to deal with fear and trauma and he really feels for Bucky. 

He has an idea. He remembers right before his mission listening to his teammates reading through ads and lettings, and he remembers Natasha mention something about an apartment in Steve’s neighbourhood. The information was irrelevant to him then, but now he pulls out his phone and asks her to find the ad or the address or anything that will help him. When he gets a prompt reply - because Natasha’s brain is almost on par with Tony’s for the sheer level of organisation of information - he does what any self respecting stalker would do.

If he had the advertisement, he’d leave it for Bucky to find, but he doesn’t, so he scribbles down the address on a napkin and places it on another table as he leaves the coffee shop. He’s hoping he won’t be spotted, and it’s not that he doesn’t want to help Bucky in person, he just really doesn’t to draw attention to himself. _Captain America saves the day as a letting agent!_

Yeah, no.

Really, he’d like to find Bucky’s landlord and string him up, teach him to be a decent human being. Then find the punk who’s been breaking into all of the apartments and do the same thing there. But he knows he can’t quite do that, though me makes a mental note to say it to anyone who might be able to help out, even if petty theft is not on the Avengers radar. 

But he hopes his plan works, though he knows the chances are slim; the apartment could be already leased or out of Bucky’s price range, the napkin could be found by a stranger or simply put in the trash without being read.

Steve tries to forget about it.

And he does, right up until he gets back from a four day conference in LA. He’s only home a couple of minutes when he glances out his living room window and sees that the apartment directly opposite his has the blinds up.

There had been an elderly man living there. Steve saw him from time to time, pottering around his apartment, and then, nothing. Steve thought that the man may have passed away as the apartment looked vacant because the blinds were permanently drawn for months.

He never in a million years thought when he anonymously passed on an address listing to Bucky, that it would be _that_ apartment that was advertised. Never did he think that his stalking would reach to this level where he would somehow result in the object of his affection living directly across the street from him. 

But there’s Bucky, sitting on the sofa amid stacks of cardboard boxes, obviously still in the process of unpacking. He’s wearing sweats and his hair is a mess, but he looks adorable all curled up, looking cosy.

It feels like an invasion of privacy, albeit a small one.

Steve’s used to watching Bucky from afar, but that’s in the public space of a coffee shop where anyone in the world could be privy to Bucky’s smiles and gestures and the little lines of concentration his gets on his brow when he’s in the zone making coffee.

Bucky, barefoot and home alone...it’s a beautiful sight but Steve feels slightly uneasy about it.

He pulls his drapes shut and goes about the rest of his day, getting ready for a team dinner at the Tower, as if pulling the drapes shut will make Bucky move out or something.

Obviously, it doesn’t, and over time Steve finds himself glancing across the street without really thinking about it.

Seeing Bucky from afar becomes a familiar thing to Steve. By day the apartment opposite is empty. Bucky’s working of course, opening the store early and often staying til close, too. But almost every evening, Bucky’s home by himself.

Steve gets used to seeing the soft glow of lamplight, the flicker of the TV screen light up Bucky’s face. Bucky eats like a pig - Steve only ever sees him eat junk food and takeout. He doesn’t seem to have a gym membership, but he sure works out from home, with a treadmill and a set of weights in his living room. 

Bucky reads a lot - novels, magazines, the odd comic book, it doesn’t seem to matter to him. 

He rarely washes his dishes until there’s a mountain of dirty plates in the sink. 

He’s always dressed casually, usually sweats or pajama pants, and he’s quite often shirtless, something Steve feels uncomfortable about at first, but gets over pretty fast. Bucky is absolutely gorgeous; lean muscle and a smattering of dark hair all over his chest and trailing down his stomach.

Steve notices all of these little things, tiny details. He doesn’t consider himself spying or perving or being horribly creepy. Not until it’s a Sunday afternoon, the one day that Bucky’s little coffee shop doesn’t open. 

Steve’s not had a mission for a couple weeks, which is quite long for him. He’s been training hard, sparring and practicing drills, sitting in on endless meetings and tactical planning sessions. He’s tired and because it’s Sunday, and a day of rest for most people, he blew off early morning training in favour of staying in bed late and then lounging on his sofa in his pajamas.

He’s scrawled on the couch in just his pajama pants with a marathon of _Friends_ on television, something numerous people have told him he needs to watch. After about four episodes he gets a little itchy and antsy; marathoning TV shows is harder for him than for most people. He looks across the street expecting to see an empty apartment, but sure enough Bucky is lying on his own couch with his feet up. He has his remote control in hand and he looks like he’s channel hopping.

Steve watches him for a moment. Bucky has his hand in his hair, raking his fingers through it. He’s biting on his bottom lip which looks obscene. He’s flexing his toes, long legs stretched out. 

Bucky’s in a t-shirt and boxer-briefs, and yes, Steve is certain he shouldn’t be watching him, but he looks amazing, relaxed and beautiful.

Steve focuses back on his own TV, trying not to watch Bucky. He doesn’t pay all that much attention, but it keeps his mind and his eyes away from Bucky’s window. When the episode ends, he flicks his gaze across the street and nearly chokes on his own breath.

Bucky’s still lying on his couch with his eyes fixed on the TV, but how his boxers are pushed down and he’s...he’s touching himself. A strong wave of desire runs through Steve. He’s watching something he knows is not for him to see, but he can’t tear his eyes away. 

Bucky must be watching porn, because his eyes are fixed with intense concentration on the screen, but his hand is moving steadily. Why Bucky is watching porn on his couch at midday on a Sunday Steve doesn’t know, but he sure as hell doesn’t care.

Steve’s too far away to see the details; even with his enhanced vision he can’t see everything, but he can see enough. He can see the tension in Bucky’s body as he strokes himself, his arm moving fast, he can see Bucky’s gaze stuck on the TV, watching and watching until his eyes fall shut and he strokes faster, harder.

Steve’s hard in his pajamas. He can’t deny it, can’t make it go away just by wishing it. He knows it’s wrong to watch Bucky like this, and god, if anyone knew that Steve Rogers, national icon and All American Hero is a pervy neighbour, they’d never look at him the same way.

He shuts his eyes, but he knows Bucky is across the street, and closing his eyes won’t change that. So he gets up and leaves the room, goes to his bedroom instead. He can’t see Bucky’s living room from here so he’s taken away the view. The memory, though, the memory is still fresh. 

He’s hard, still turned on. 

Even laying face down on his bed and screaming into a pillow does nothing, not that he really thinks it would. 

He rolls over and stares at the ceiling. Then he lets the little devil on his shoulder win this one and he finally lets his hand slide down his body.

He squeezes his cock through his pajamas and hisses at the contact. It feels so good, but it’s nowhere near enough. He needs so much more, and ideally he could do with some really good sex, but considering he’s not going to get that, he’s going to do what he can with his hands and his dirty, dirty thoughts. 

He squeezes himself again but then shifts and wiggles his hips so that he can pull the pajama pants down. He slides them down slowly over the curve of his ass and then down his thighs and imagines that someone else is undressing him. The thought sends a thrill through him. 

When he touches himself the relief of skin on skin makes him groan and buck up into his hand. He licks his palm and then stokes again, the saliva giving a little slide to his stroke but it’s not enough. He doesn’t want to move and begin searching his nightstand for lube, but the drag of his palm against his dick means this is less enjoyable than it should be. He wants to give his dirty thoughts of Bucky some justice so he rolls over and rifles through his drawer. When he finally locates a half used bottle of lube. 

It makes all the difference to his strokes, a glorious glide that leaves him gasping. He tightens his grip and strokes again paying particular attention to the head of his dick, circling it with his thumb on the peak of each stroke.

Steve teases his other hand up over his belly, trailing his fingers lightly over the skin. He focuses on the feeling but reminds himself repeatedly not to fantasise that it’s Bucky’s hand. If it’s _someone else’s_ hand then that’s okay, just...not Bucky. He has to focus on the here and now and not get carried away. Not yet anyway.

The feather-light touches on his skin build the heat in his belly, build his arousal. He tries to hard to think of anything else but Bucky; porn he’s watched, naked bodies entwined, sweaty guys on their knees, girls with curvy asses. He imagines himself in the middle of it all and tries to use the imagery to overwhelm himself.

None of it really works, it’s not enough to tip him over the edge. 

And then, so predictably he almost rolls his eyes at himself, his thoughts turn to Bucky. It makes sense; Bucky is the last sexy person he saw and Bucky was doing incredibly sexy things. So Steve lets his mind wander back to Bucky; Bucky on the couch with his underwear pushed down, Bucky watching porn, Bucky biting his lip, Bucky touching himself.

Then he thinks about Bucky taking his underwear off altogether, getting his shirt off too. Naked on the sofa, or better still, naked on a big bed, spread out. Steve has to guess to fill in the gaps but he imagines Bucky’s thick thighs covered in sparse, wiry hair, the crease of his groin, the v-lines of his hips, his chest and pecs. 

He wonders what Bucky smells like up close. Does he smell like coffee grounds from the store, and what would that smell like mixed with sweat and come and sex? He wonders what Bucky feels like. Is his skin as buttery soft to the touch as it looks? Is it smooth? What would Bucky feel like on top of Steve, his thighs tight on Steve’s, straddling him, holding him down. Steve wonders if Bucky would pull his hair, bite him, leave marks on his skin if if he wouldn’t last with Steve’s impeccable healing. 

Steve groans as he strokes himself, his grip tight around his dick. He swipes his thumb over the sensitive head, collecting precum and picking up the speed, the pressure. He feels hot all over, pleasure tingling down his spine and spreading down his thighs, pooling in his groin.

He’s so close, almost there. He speeds up, fucking his hips up to meet his hand, losing himself in it.

He thinks again of how he and Bucky might be if they were together, if it was Bucky’s hand of him, touching him, stroking him, harder and fast until he comes. Then Steve really does come, gasping for breath, his heart hammering in his chest.

He lies there feeling lightheaded and elated and swallows down any guilt he has that it was Bucky he just jacked off over. He know it's just thoughts and thoughts won’t hurt anyone, but it still feels like an invasion, like he doesn’t have the right, like those dirty thoughts are not his to keep.

He gets straight into the shower to wash himself clean, and lasts a whole five minutes before he’s getting hard again, jerking off to thoughts of Bucky.

After his shower he goes for a run and runs until his shirt is soaked in sweat and his supersoldier legs feel like jelly even if it means he has to get right back into the shower on his return and he winds up jerking off to thoughts of Bucky a third time.

He avoids the coffee shop for three days and keeps his blinds drawn, all the while thinking about Bucky and chastising himself in equal portions.

Steve gets called in later that week and he’s almost grateful for the distraction, even if, yeah aliens, not so much fun.

It’s a two week mission between planning and battling and cleanup, so it’s plenty of time for headspace for Steve. He uses the break to tell himself that he needs to rein it in, that going for coffees in Bucky’s coffee shop is one thing. Having a crush is fine, and for Steve it’s actually kind of healthy. Normal, even. He hasn’t had all that many crushes since he entered this century, so it’s not a bad thing, per se. 

But the rest? Not cool. If he continues to live across from Bucky, he needs to set up some boundaries for himself. It’s not fair to watch Bucky in any state of undress or in any intimate setting. He can maybe justify leaving his blinds open so long as he behaves himself and makes sure to close them if there’s any sight of anything he shouldn’t watch. 

He likes his apartment, but if he can’t control himself he’s probably going to have to consider moving on. He can easily take up an apartment in the Avengers Tower or even in the compound if he wants to get out of the city for a while. A word to Tony and he could have an apartment anywhere in the city, if he wanted. He doesn’t want to leave here though. 

His apartment might be a little sparse in terms of personal items, and he’s here by himself, but it feels like home after not having one for so long. He picks up little trinkets and things when he finds them, he’s even bought soft furnishings he likes. He’s settled here. He like’s his neighbourhood, too. It’s not just Bucky’s little coffee shop, there’s plenty of other little places he enjoys like the little Italian deli or the bakery down the street. 

He doesn’t want to give this up. But if he can’t control himself, can’t give Bucky the privacy that he deserves, then Steve will pack up and move on. 

*

Of course, Steve has a few lapses in his well-laid plans of not-being-a-creepy-pervert.

One evening Bucky gets back from work while Steve’s at home. 

Steve has some paperwork that needs to be completed - the boring side of Avenging, but honestly, boring is fine sometimes. He’s got the papers spread over his coffee table and he’s been doing pretty well getting through it until he sees Bucky’s living room light come on across the street.

Bucky’s carrying a whole bunch of things in his arms and he’s managing to balance a takeout coffee cup in one hand and his keys are dangling from his mouth. Steve smiles to himself because Bucky’s adorable, but he gets his head down again, working on reading through a report, checking it for accuracy, trying to pay attention to the details.

Minutes pass and Steve looks up again, because of course he does.

Bucky’s in his little kitchenette which is open-plan and shares the wide window of the living room. He’s set down all of the things he was carrying and is now opening them. He was carrying mail, it appears, and he sips on his coffee as he opens a letter, then another letter and then a large padded envelope. There’s an unopened box on the counter, too.

Steve looks away again, aware that he promised himself he wouldn’t stare at Bucky. When he glances up next - which is approximately twenty seconds later - Bucky’s pulling things out of the big padded envelope. It seems to be a delivery of clothing. 

Bucky pulls a couple things out and lays them on the counter. Steve can’t see what they are from all the way across the street. That is, not until Bucky opens one of them up and holds it up. It’s a grey t-shirt. Bucky then proceeds to strip off the shirt he’s currently wearing and pull on the new one.

A little jolt of excitement runs through Steve as Bucky’s skin appears and then disappears under his new shirt, but he swallows it down, lasting a whole ten breaths of looking at his paperwork before he looks again. 

Bucky’s still in the new shirt, but then he reaches behind his head and pulls it off once again. He stands there barechested with Steve staring at him, at the planes of skin that he shouldn’t be seeing, the patches of hair on his chest, Bucky’s gorgeous arms. 

Bucky tries on a second shirt, black this time, and it looks just as good. Steve wishes he could see it up close, see how it fits, see how it stretches across Bucky’s chest and shoulders. He shakes himself out of it and goes back to his paperwork, making it through a large section of text without taking in a single word.

When he looks back up, oh god. Bucky’s stripped his pants off and is trying on a pair of slim-fitting jeans, the kind he wears in the coffee shop most often. Watching him pull them on feels intimate, and Steve is far more turned on than he should be. 

He watches from across the street as Bucky fastens them and then turns and poses, checking if they fit properly. _Then_ , Steve watches in disbelief as Bucky drops his pants and proceeds to pull his shirt off too so that he’s left in his underwear. 

Steve swallows hard and feels the heat pooling in his groin as he grows harder. He notices his breathing has deepened and his pulse is faster.

Steve holds his breath and bites his lip as Bucky drops his underwear, leaving him standing naked in his kitchen. 

He’s standing at the breakfast bar, the entire side of his body visible. Bucky looks like he’s texting or checking his phone or something, but it means he’s slightly bent over the counter, giving Steve the most delicious view. 

Steve takes in the long line of Bucky’s bare body, the expanse of naked skin. He drinks in the details he sees like the bumps of Bucky’s spine, the curve of his ass, the goddamn _dimple_ of his ass cheek and how strong his things look. Bucky is beautiful. It’s a little too much for Steve to take.

Steve knows it’s completely normal for anyone to be naked in their own apartment, he does it often enough himself, of course. The difference is that most people close their drapes first, or knock the lights off so that not much can be seen. Perhaps Bucky thinks that because his apartment is fifteen floor up that there’s no one around to see him. But maybe he just doesn’t even consider it. It’s just nudity, just skin, just a body. He’s not putting on a live sex show in the window with flashing lights and blaring music. It’s a normal thing. Even jerking off on the couch is something that Steve is sure most people have done - again, he usually just shuts his drapes before he touches himself.

But even if there’s is just nakedness, it lights a spark inside Steve because of his huge crush on Bucky and because he knows he really shouldn’t be seeing this. The spark of pleasure comes with a wave of guilt, of course, and after another lingering look up and down the length of Bucky’s body, Steve leaves his living room and has a cold shower.

He emerges a half hour later and lays on his bed. He can feel his hands twitching by his side, feel his muscles tense and clenched. Despite the cold shower, he’s horny. Since the serum he’s had a crazily short refractory period, which apparently even icy cold water can’t stop. 

He gives in to himself, to his desires, and he jerks off. And if thoughts of Bucky enter his head right as he’s coming, well there’s not much he can do about that.

***

“Steven Grant Rogers! You sneak!”

The tone of Natasha’s voice sends a chill through Steve’s body and the fact that she uses his full name sends him momentarily back to being a kid and his Ma chastising him.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” she asks. She’s got a hand on her hip and there’s a quirk on her lips that says she’s got one over on him.

They’re in Steve’s living room, just dropping in after Natasha practically forced him to come shopping with her. He needs some more modernising, she says, so Steve’s picked up some new clothes. A lot of the things he purchased today will end up in the back of his closet, never to be worn, but Natasha has an eye for nice things. Then, of course, Natasha insisted on taking him for coffee, and there’s no prizes for guessing where she suggested they go.

When Steve agreed for her to come up to his apartment, he never expected Bucky to be home across the street. He assumed that considering it’s a weekday afternoon, Bucky would be busy at the store.

But across the street, Bucky is home and running on his treadmill. 

Steve watches him for a moment, ignoring the growing smirk on Natasha’s face, and zeroing in on Bucky and how he moves. He’s got a long, agile stride as he races along, hair sweaty and sticking to his temples, and Steve only tears his eyes away when Nat clears her throat audibly.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” she asks again, softer this time.

“About what?”

“That your hottie barista lives across the street and you have a prime view of his living room?”

Yeah, that.

Steve wasn’t really planning on telling Natasha, no. It sounds far too odd a coincidence, too convenient. Especially since he accidentally helped to orchestrate it. 

“I don’t even know how it happened. I didn’t plan it.”

“Steve, this is _amazing_. Why don’t you use this as reason to speak to him?”

“And say what? Oh, hey, I know you never shut you drapes, and I know this because I should be arrested for being a peeping Tom. And by the way, you wanna get dinner?”

“Not quite, Steve. Wait, does he really never shut his drapes?”

“I’ve never seen them closed….not that I’m on constant watch. I just have not noticed them shut.” Steve trails off, uncomfortable that his secret is out, ashamed that he’s been caught. Natasha is not someone who judges, but he still feels bad about the whole thing. Natasha just blinks and stares into his eyes like she’s reading his mind.

“Do you think you’ll ever talk to him?” She says finally.

“I don’t know, Nat. I really don’t.”

“I think you will,” she says. She pats him on the shoulder and he feels a little better. Then she gets a devilish look in her eyes. “You know, I really think we should stay here and order pizza instead of getting coffee.”

Steve puts on his best Captain America voice. “Romanoff, I can see right through your plan. Fortunately for you, I’m starving.”

She grins.

“Though you do anything to attract his attention and you’re toast. You’ll be running drills for the next ten years.”

She picks her phone up but then puts it back down with a smirk. “So, I have no need to look up semaphore then?”

“Nope. You can order the pizza, though.”

Steve’s eternally grateful that Bucky does nothing more than work out while he has an audience. He runs on the treadmill for a good half-hour and after that pulls off his shirt and begins to lift weights - nothing complex just dumbbell exercises, mostly for his arms, shoulders and upper back. Steve wishes he could fix Bucky’s posture when he’s doing military presses, but then if Steve was up close to Bucky when Bucky was shirtless and sweating, lifting weights would be the furthest thing from his mind.

When Bucky takes his shirt off, Natasha keeps her mouth shut but gives Steve the biggest grin. Despite trying to keep a conversation going, there’s many moments where the pair of them just stare out the window as Bucky works out, Natasha thoroughly enjoying herself. 

Bucky finishes his workout and Steve decides to pull his blind down, ending the show just in case. If Bucky was to do anything more risqué, Steve might die of embarrassment in front of Natasha so better to be safe than be sorry.

“That was fun,” she says.

“Fun is not the word I’d use.”

“Look, I get it. You’re embarrassed. Not easy to explain if anyone asks. It’s a little perverted, but not intentionally. It’s okay. You’re secret is safe, Rogers.”

Steve blushes hard, relieved but still feeling exposed. 

They say their goodbyes and Steve keeps his blinds down for the rest of the day.

 

***

Steve will never admit that the reason he sees Bucky fall is because he’s sitting at his kitchen table with one eye on his sketch book, one eye on Bucky’s living room window, but that’s how it goes.

Steve’s in the middle of a sketch that he’s started three times already. All of the figures that he’s begun today end up with skinny jeans and messy hair and that’s not what he set out to do.

With one eye on Bucky’s window he sees Bucky pottering around his apartment, making something to eat and tidying up. He’s not home long - Steve noticed when he came in, shedding his hoody and necking a bottle of water.

It’s early evening and Steve’s had a pretty uneventful day; ops training, gym session, meetings, home. He’s generally pretty grateful for days like this when there’s no word of any sort of threat. (If there is a threat and Steve can’t go sort it out he’s antsy and anxious and hell to be around.)

He’s sketching aimlessly. His latest doodle is a figure with jaw-length hair and stubble and looks mysteriously like Bucky. Yes, Steve is just that creepy today.

He chastises himself and flips to a blank page. He sucks on the end of his pencil and and stares out the window hoping that some inspiration will hit him. Of course that means he looks right across the street and into Bucky’s window. 

Bucky’s on his feet and busy looking in a floor-to-ceiling cupboard. He’s taking things out and putting them back in, seemingly looking for something. 

Steve smiles to himself because Bucky looks pretty adorable in his tank top and messy ponytail, especially when he stands up on his tippy toes to get something from the top shelf. Steve has estimated that he and Bucky are roughly the same height, give or take an inch and Steve would struggle to reach that shelf too. But Bucky’s stretching and reaching and apparently trying to get a large box down.

Steve can’t see exactly, but Bucky appears to be able to wiggle it forward to get a hold of it. It must be heavy though, because it unbalances and starts falling backwards, taking Bucky with it as he tries to keep hold of it.

Steve winces and stands up on impulse. A fall like that could give Bucky a nasty bump on his head and Steve assumes that when Bucky stands up he’s even going to be a little disorientated. 

When he gets up...which is. Huh. Bucky’s not getting up. 

Steve counts to ten before deciding he’s gotta go over there. Most likely by the time he gets there Bucky will be up and fine and Steve will have to make an ass of himself and make up some sort of ridiculous reason why he’s there, but if there’s a chance that Bucky is lying unconscious over there then Steve needs to go check on him.

The easiest way into Bucky’s apartment is to go up the fire escape. Steve uses his upper body strength and agility to hoist himself up to the first metal landing because the drop ladder is too far to climb from the ground. Once he’s pulled himself up he climbs the metal stairs as quickly as possible, taking the steps two at a time. He’s done this sort of thing countless times - scaling a building under pressure for time - so he’s at least vaguely grateful for his experience in his area, but he still wishes he could get to Bucky faster. 

When he reaches Bucky’s floor he has to solve the next problem which is getting into Bucky’s apartment. From Steve’s position on the fire escape he can see inside. Not only is Bucky not up and walking around, but he’s still out cold lying on the floor. Steve can see about half his body but not his head, which is blocked by a coffee table, so he can’t see if there’s any blood.

He decides to break the window. 

He breaks in in a way that causes the least amount of damage. Okay, so he has to smash the glass, but if he had his shield or was in a proper uniform he’d break the entire window, window frame and maybe some of the wall while he’s at it.

But once the glass is broken he can open the latch and get inside. Bucky’s still on the ground and Steve rushes to his side, checking his vital signs. It’s only been a matter of minutes that Bucky’s unconscious, but Steve needs him to wake up - the longer he’s out for the worse the injury is and the more likely there could be complications. Bucky’s alive and breathing but when he fell he knocked his head against the edge of the coffee table. There’s a decent amount of blood but Steve reminds himself to stay calm because he knows that even minor head injuries can look a lot worse than they are due to bleeding.

“Bucky! Bucky? Can you hear me? It’s...Steve.”

He has no idea how else to announce himself other than that but right now it’s more important to get Bucky to a hospital. 

“Bucky? Bucky!”

“Hmm?” 

Relief floods through him when he hears Bucky groaning. He’s okay.

“You fell and hit your head. I’m going to bring you to the hospital now, okay? Can you get up?”

“My head is fucking killing me,” Bucky says. He brings his hand up to the back of his head to where his wound is and winces when his fingers make contact. His eyes go wide because he must feel blood on the wound and his fingertips are red when he takes them away.

He gingerly begins to move himself into a sitting position but he looks like he’s in a bad way. 

Steve puts one arm around his back and gets a hand under his armpit so that he can hoist Bucky up. He’s wobbly on his feet.

“Yeah, okay. I was gonna protest against the hospital, but yeah, okay.”

Steve grabs a towel from Bucky’s kitchen and balls it up. “Hold this against your head. Head wounds can bleed like a bitch. Can you walk? We can go down and grab a cab. It’s the quickest way.”

“Yeah, but gimme a minute. I think I’m gonna hurl.”

Shit, Steve’s well aware of the nausea that follows a head injury. Even with his super-healing he’s had some knocks to the head that have left him in a bad way.

“Here,” Steve says. He passes Bucky the trash can and puts his arm on Bucky to keep him steady as Bucky vomits into it. Steve’s heart breaks seeing Bucky like this, and maybe seeing his crush throw up should diminish his feelings, but it only makes him ache inside that Bucky’s injured and sad and broken. 

“Sorry,” Bucky says.

“No need for that. I’ve seen a lot worse, believe me. You think you’re gonna go again or are you ready to roll?”

“No, I’m good. I’ll need your help though.”

Steve takes his hoodie off and slips Bucky’s arms into it carefully. Steve won’t be cold, he never is, but Bucky’s wearing a tank and Steve doesn’t want Bucky getting a chill, especially if he goes into shock.

Bucky squints at Steve for a long minute, looking shaken and bleary eyed. “Why are you in my apartment?”

Steve’s blood runs cold. He brushes it off to the best of his ability and just says, “I’ll explain once we get to the hospital,” and just hopes that he’ll have thought of something by then.

Bucky doesn’t ask again, just grumbles as they get downstairs and Steve bundles them into a cab. Considering Bucky’s walking around and hasn’t vomited again, Steve doesn’t think an ambulance is necessary but he’d really love to call in a superhero type favour and get the traffic cleared. He doesn’t, knowing it will draw far more attention than he can handle right now, and instead uses his time hoping Bucky’s okay.

When they get to the ER, Steve takes over the duty of checking Bucky in, first making sure that Bucky stays sitting on the plastic chair that Steve puts him on. He looks pale, but considering the bleeding has stopped and Bucky has neither thrown up or lost consciousness again he’s probably alright.

The waiting room is packed with people and Steve gives up his seat when someone else needs it, electing instead to stand at by the wall. From here he can keep an eye on Bucky, see the nurse’s station in case it’s Bucky’s turn, and also it means Bucky can’t ask again why Steve was in his apartment and how he knew Bucky was injured.

Bucky gets checked out by triage and Steve goes with him, not really sure what else to do, and not wanting to abandon him. They’re brought to a small cubicle with just a curtain separating them from the rest of the ER. Bucky sits on an exam table, on the edge first, looking nervous and uncomfortable. The wound has long since stopped bleeding but Bucky has blood-stains on his shirt and his hair is matted black with it. The hoodie that Steve put on him has blood smears down the front. He looks a mess.

He’s examined thoroughly by the triage nurse and though she gives Steve a long look like she might recognise him, she doesn’t say as much. 

“Tell me what happened?” she says.

“He fell. Hit his head--”

“I’d like for the patient to tell me. Would you mind sitting over there,” she says. She gives him a stern look and Steve shrinks back to the side of the cubicle to sit on an orange plastic chair.

“I fell,” Bucky says. “I was reaching up to get something from a closet, I think. It’s a little hazy, but I think I fell backwards. Must have hit my head on something. Maybe my coffee table.”

“It was the coffee table,” Steve says. He earns himself another stern look for nurse.

“You saw it?” she asks.

Steve feels himself blush, a little panicked. _Yes, I saw it. From across the street. Because I am a creepy peeping Tom and now my secret will be out._

“Uh, yeah. Brought him in too.”

“Well, good that you did. It doesn’t seem to be too serious an injury, and I don’t think he’ll need a scan, but he needs to see a doctor.”

Steve nods as the nurse deposits Bucky’s chart at the end of the bed and leaves the cubicle, giving the curtain a sharp pull to close it again, leaving Steve and Bucky alone. 

“Thanks, by the way,” Bucky mumbles. He’s sitting back on the exam table now, his head on a pillow, eyes closed. “For bringing me in. Hey, do you think they’ll give me pain meds? My head feels like it’s splitting in two.”

“Yeah. Maybe ask the doc.”

Bucky just makes a soft little noise of agreement and looks like he’s drifting off to sleep. He rearranges himself so that he’s in a horizontal position now, just propped up against the hospital pillows. As much as Steve knows about head injuries, which isn’t much at all, he knows it’s best not to sleep straight after one. So, even if Bucky looks exhausted, Steve thinks he needs to keep Bucky talking.

“I don’t think it’s so bad, you know? Your injury? I’ve seen worse. Had a couple myself.”

Bucky looks at Steve for a long moment, squinting a little like he’s trying to figure something out. Steve assumes he’s been rumbled. 

“Tell me about one of them?”

“Oh, you don’t want to know about that.”

“I’m bored and it will take my mind off the throbbing pain in my head.”

Steve looks at Bucky’s crumpled, defeated face and can’t think of a single head injury that doesn’t involve aliens or monsters of some sort. He really doesn’t want to tell those stories to Bucky now because they feel out of place. 

“How ‘bout I go get you some bottled water first? And maybe a snack. I hear chocolate can heal most wounds. Then I’ll tell you a story when I get back. Just please don’t go to sleep yet.”

Bucky smiles a small, crooked smile and Steve goes for a little walk in search of a vending machine, swallowing down the butterflies that feel like they’re trying to escape his chest. 

Steve finds a beat up machine that seems to grudgingly give him a candy bar and two bottles of water. It steals his change.

When he pulls back the curtain to re-enter the cubicle, there’s a doctor standing by Bucky’s bed looking over the chart.

“Can I help you?” the doctor asks.

“I’m with him.”

“I’m afraid it’s family only. We’re short on space in here as you can see.”

“Oh,” Steve says, a little taken aback, “I, uh, I came in with him.”

The doctor walks across the tiny cubicle to stand in front of Steve. He’s short, maybe five-eight, early forties, kinda handsome. But he’s looking at Steve like he doesn’t belong, and even if Steve knows he’s right, he doesn’t want to leave Bucky alone, so Steve drops his voice and says, “I’m his boyfriend.”

Steve’s sure that from the corner of his eye, he can see Bucky’s head whip around, but he keeps his eyes on the doctor, trying to gauge if he’s gotten away with his lie. 

“Oh, well in that case you can take a seat over there, but please stay out of the way while we check Mr Barnes out --”

“Bucky,” Steve corrects, automatically, and internally winces at himself.

“Bucky.”

Steve keeps his end of the bargain and stays quiet, staying out of the way while the doctor does the checks for concussion, checking his vision, balance, asking him some routine questions, checking temperature and blood pressure. Steve has had the same tests done himself after various war-wounds, though concussion never seems to work the same way for him. 

Once the doctor has updated Bucky’s chart he gives Steve a curt nod. “We’ll need to keep an eye on him. He got a nasty bump on the head.”

“But he’s okay?”

“He appears to have some short term memory loss, and he’ll likely have a substantial headache for a few days, nothing too severe. I’ve given him something for the pain. He needs to stay overnight for observation, but he should be okay to go home tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Steve watches the doctor leave the room and then pulls his chair beside the bed so that he’s up near Bucky’s head. Bucky looks bleary-eyed but not so bad for someone who has a head injury. He’s got a white gauze bandage wrapped around his head, and there are strands of dark hair sticking out from underneath. Steve feels a little pang in his heart, one that overrides the feeling of being a creep and lying to the doctor about being Bucky’s boyfriend just so that he can stay with him.

“Does it still look bad?”

“Hard to see from here. It’s all under that mane of yours. You’re bandaged up pretty good.”

“Steve, I feel terrible.”

“Why? What’s wrong? Should I go get the doctor again?”

“No, no. Not that. I feel terrible because I don’t remember us dating,” Bucky says, wide eyed and serious and sad.

Steve feels a huge wave of guilt. He’d lied to the doctor so that he could stay but he didn’t think Bucky heard him. He had no intentions of any such thing because that feels very much like taking advantage and definitely like being a total creep.

“About that--”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says. He blinks at Steve a couple times and then smiles a bleary smile. 

“Bucky, you don’t have to--”

“You were going to tell me a story, maybe could you tell me about our first date or something?” When Steve hesitates, Bucky bats his obscenely long and thick eyelashes. “Please?”

How can Steve say no? He knows he’s digging himself in deeper with every passing second, and now would be the perfect time to come clean and tell the truth, but no. He takes one look at Bucky’s blue eyes and how tired he looks, and he nods.

“We met at your store. I asked you out when I ordered my coffee. You wrote your number on my cup.” Steve can feel himself blushing heavily. It’s obviously not true, but it’s how he has imagined it might happen. It would require some cheeky flirting on Steve’s part, but maybe if he was brave and flirted then Bucky would have reciprocated.

“That’s cute,” Bucky says. 

Steve nods. He knows just how cute is sounds. Steve’s a romantic at heart, and he’s spent too many hours thinking up lots of romantic ways for he and Bucky to interact.

“Our first date was...simple,” Steve continues. “Dinner in a little Italian place, not far from your store.” Steve’s thought about this part before, too. The restaurant he’s thinking of is a place he’s been to with Natasha a couple of times before. It’s got low lighting and white table cloths, but it’s also casual enough for a date. He imagines that they’d both wear jeans and he’d wear a Henley, probably something that barely fits him that Natasha would pick out especially for the occasion. He imagines Bucky wearing dark denims and a crisp white long-sleeve tee. 

“What did I have?”

“Pizza.”

“Proper pizza?”

“Of course - the good stuff. Wine too. Wine doesn’t really work on me, but you got a little tipsy.”

Bucky smiles. “Then what?”

“It was early, we went for a walk.”

“We held hands?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and he gets butterflies at the thought.

“Did we...did we kiss?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. Bucky bites his lip and looks at Steve with big blue eyes. Steve’s spent too long wondering what a first kiss with Bucky would be like. Would it be sweet or firm, slow or lingering, passionate or chaste?

“That sounds like a great date,” Bucky says. His voice is thick with sleep and he looks so tired. “Can we do that again? Can you show me our first date, take me out? So I can remember. I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

“Bucky, really, you don’t have to-”

“I’m real tired, Steve.”

“Maybe get some rest, Bucky. The doc said it’s okay to sleep.”

“Yeah, okay,” he says. His eyes look like they’re getting heavy, but he looks up at Steve and he looks so vulnerable that Steve’s heart aches. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“It’s nothing,” Steve lies, because it feels like _everything_.

And then before Steve can say anything else, Bucky promptly closes his eyes and falls asleep.

Steve’s stuck. He knows he needs to come clean to Bucky but he’s lost his chance for now. 

He stays at Bucky’s bedside for hours, watching over him. Bucky looks angelic in his sleep, despite the white gauze on his forehead. His eyes are gently closed, his eyelashes fan over his cheeks and his lips are parted softly. He makes tiny noises in his sleep that are not quite snores but tug on something in Steve’s chest because they’re really adorable.

Steve is very much aware that watching Bucky sleep is just adding fuel to his creepy, creepy fire, but he can’t tear himself away. He’s keenly aware that nobody else has come to visit Bucky and he feels that everyone should have someone with them when they’re injured and confined to hospital.

He stays until his phone vibrates and he realises it’s early morning; he’s been here all night. The notification on his phone is a reminder for a meeting at the Avengers, so reluctantly he leaves the hospital. He plans on stopping by the meeting, then going home for a quick shower and then he can make it back to hospital to check on Bucky again.

At the Tower, it’s business as usual.

“Did you sleep in a trash can, Cap?” Tony quips.

“Oh, I know that look,” Natasha chimes in, “Yesterday’s clothes, dark circles? That screams of someone who hasn’t been home and maybe hasn’t had any sleep.” 

“Did you get lucky last night, Steve?” Clint asks, and Natasha elbows him in the ribs, hard enough that he makes an _oof_ sound. Steve’s grateful for her.

“No. No trash can. No lucky night. I was just busy,” Steve says, wanting to get this over as soon as possible so that he can get the hell out of here. He’s definitely not willing to share where he really was. Stark will never let him forget this if he ever hears the details.

The meeting is dull as all hell, but it’s short, so there’s that.

Steve gets home as fast as he can and takes a shower, washing away everything that’s happened over the last day and night. He dresses in comfy jeans and a well worn, long sleeved tee and heads back out to the hospital.

When he arrives at Bucky’s little cubicle, the bed is empty and the space is spotless, waiting for a new patient. Steve does a doubletake assuming it’s the wrong place, but when he checks again, he realises that this _was_ Bucky’s cubicle and he must have been moved.

“Doctor! Hey, Doc. The guy that was in this room? James Barnes, Bucky? Is he--”

“Discharged himself an hour ago.”

“Oh.”

Steve’s torn between being mad as hell at Bucky for discharging himself early, and completely heartbroken that he’s gone and Steve missed him. 

“Is he okay?”

“I would have liked him to stay a little longer for a couple more tests. He’s still experiencing some memory issues.“ Steve feels a huge wave of guilt because as far as Steve can tell those memory issues are only around his relationship with Steve, which does not exist and therefore cannot be remembered. “But he’ll be fine.”

Steve skulks back to his apartment with his tail between his legs, feeling very sorry for himself and with an air of panic in the background.

Yes, he missed Bucky at the hospital, and yes he’s worried about him, but he still has a very big issue to resolve, the one where he lied and said Bucky’s his boyfriend, the one where Bucky overheard and then made Steve recite details of a date that didn’t happen. 

He’s just wondering if Tony’s invented a memory erasing tool when his phone rings and an unknown number shows up on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Steve,” the voice says. “I couldn’t find your number in my phone. I must have forgotten what I saved your name as. I assume it’s a pet name or something. I took it from my patient file anyway. You put all your contact details in.”

“Bucky...” Steve says.

“Yeah. Look, thanks again for taking me to the hospital. Thanks for taking care of me.”

Steve glances across the street to Bucky’s window and Bucky has his feet propped up on his coffee table. He’s slouching with the phone in one hand and he’s twirling a pen in the other. 

“It’s no problem,” Steve says honestly. He’s genuinely happy to help Bucky, because even from across the street it looked like a nasty fall and if Steve hadn’t intervened who knows how long Bucky would have been on the ground for. “How are you feeling.”

“Okay, I think. Better than last night, but I’ve still got a headache and I’m a little fuzzy around the edges.”

“I went back to the hospital. I had to leave, but I went back. You were gone.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “The place was driving me crazy. I felt fine. If I don’t feel so good I’ll go back. I had a shower. Can’t wash my hair yet, though, because of the wound. There’s a ton of blood matted into it. But clean clothes and my own place make things easier.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Steve says. 

“And I wanted to say sorry, again,” Bucky continues, ”The doc says my memories will come back in time, probably a couple days tops, but I can’t believe I didn’t remember that we’re dating. I feel just awful.”

“Um.”

“No, it’s really terrible. You’re so kind and you rushed to help me, and _god_ you’re a friggen national icon. And I can't even remember that we’re dating or anything about us. I’m the worst.”

“You’re not, Bucky-”

“Oh, no. I am. I can’t remember anything. I know that we met at my coffee shop, but I don’t know anything about our first date other than what you told me. I don’t remember our first kiss.” He pauses for a second and when he speaks again his voice is like velvet. “I don’t remember where we first had sex.”

Steve’s cheeks heat up at the thought. He feels so guilty and all he has to do is say that this is a misunderstanding, but Bucky’s still talking and he sounds so good on the telephone, especially when he drops his voice low. Steve chances a quick glance across the street to Bucky’s window again and Bucky’s on his feet now, wandering barefoot around the apartment. He looks fantastic - apart from the bandage on his head - in dark jeans and a navy tank top.

“I mean, the first time a couple sleeps together is a special moment, right? It only happens once and tends to set the tone for the whole relationship.”

“Uh huh.” Why, oh why, is Steve not putting a stop to this? He should. Instead he’s feeling hot all over at the thought of sex with Bucky. 

“I’ve been thinking about it since I got home. Thinking of us together. And I can’t remember it, you know, but I’ve been using my imagination.”

“I--”

“I don’t know what our first time together was like,” Bucky purrs, “but I’d like to think it was slow and hot. Not quite love making, not quite fucking. I’d say I could get you out of your clothes pretty easy, maybe after hours of making out, long and slow.” 

Steve now has his hand over his face like it might make some difference. He has no idea where Bucky’s going with this, but there are certain parts of Steve’s body that are very, very interested. Bucky’s voice sounds divine over the telephone, deep and smooth like caramel, and then there’s a tiny hitch of breath on the line.

Steve’s frozen, unable to get any words out, not even a sound of complaint, and Bucky continues.

“You know those sessions that begin as nothing but slow kissing and end up as bodies pressed together, limbs tangled, hands exploring?”

There’s some rustling on the line and it sounds like Bucky’s moving around. Steve peels his hand off his face and looks across the street at Bucky’s window. He’s standing up and fiddling with his belt, and - oh god! Steve can see Bucky undoing his belt and shoving his pants down. 

Steve has always gone out of his way _not_ to look at Bucky in any sort of undressed state (since the last time he saw Bucky naked), feeling it completely out of line. It’s one thing to see Bucky across the street, to know that he’s there; that’s bad enough. To spy on Bucky in an intimate setting is beyond anything Steve’s willing to do again. 

Until now.

Steve sees Bucky kick off his jeans and sit back down on his sofa. 

“There’s those make-out sessions that don’t go anywhere,” Bucky says. “The ones that are just hours of touching lazily without even heading towards sex. I bet we have loads of those. I like that a lot.”

Steve makes a sound that’s not a word, not a protest, definitely not telling Bucky to stop, like he should.

He glances across the street again and Bucky’s running his hand up and down his chest. The way he’s sitting means that the arm of the couch is blocking Bucky’s body from his waist down, so Steve can’t see Bucky’s hand when it goes below.

“But then when those drawn out make-outs turn to more, turn to undressing each other.” Little hitch of breath. “Slipping my hands under your shirt, running my palms all over your chest. I bet you have sensitive nipples.” Another hitch of breath and a soft sigh. “Your mouth on my neck. Your tongue on my skin. _God_ , Steve. I wish I could remember.” A bitten off moan.

Steve looks across the street and Bucky’s hand is moving. Jesus wept. He’s jerking off. 

Steve’s hard in his pants, his dick straining against the denim. He cannot bring himself to touch himself. He can’t even open his jeans to relieve the pressure because he knows he’ll touch himself then.

“Buck--”

Bucky moans quietly, sounding gorgeous and turned on. He’s not finished talking, either.

Steve’s sweating hard. His free hand is balled into a tight fist, his fingernails digging into his palms. He can only assume that his super-serum is the reason he can control himself from coming in his pants because lesser men would have come all over themselves by now.

“Getting my hands inside your pants. _Fuck_! Getting your pants off entirely. You’re body is fucking gorgeous, even fully clothed. Bet you look amazing naked.” Another moan and laboured breathing. “I can imagine us naked together. Our thighs pressed. My hands on your hips. Your fingers in my hair. I bet you feel so good in my palm; thick and heavy, the perfect fit. Bet you come so good, so beautiful.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything else, just a groan and then heavy breathing. When Steve glances across the street Bucky’s got his head against the back of the couch and his eyes closed. He’s blissed out.

Steve’s the opposite; tense and frustrated and so turned on he might explode.

“Steve? Steve, I’m coming over to you, okay?”

Then the line goes dead before Steve can protest. He drops his phone and his instinct is to see if he can rub one out before Bucky gets here, if he indeed is coming over; Steve’s not even sure how Bucky knows his address.

He tries to calm himself, decides to quell his boner by thinking of all the least sexy things ever, splashes water on his face. And then, what feels like days later, there’s a knock at Steve’s door.

Bucky looks even more devastating up close than he did across the street. His cheeks are flushed and Steve assumes it’s from his orgasm. He gets a wave of desire at the thought and he has to fight to tamp down how he feels.

“Hey,” Bucky purrs, like it’s nothing, like he didn’t just masturbate down the phone. Then again, if Bucky thinks that he and Steve are in a relationship, maybe that’s what Bucky does.

Steve wordlessly lets Bucky in and they stand awkwardly in his living room six feet apart.

Bucky looks around and Steve sticks his hands in his pockets with no idea what to say or do.

“Nice place,” Bucky says. “Thought it might jog my memory but I don’t recall being here. Have I been here?”

“Bucky. About that--”

“Tell me after. Unless you’re a fucking ninja, I don’t think you had an orgasm. I didn’t hear one.” He’s advancing on Steve, moving across the living room, and Steve starts taking steps backwards without really intending to until his back hits the wall with a thud.

“So, you should have one,” Bucky continues. “Let me help you out. I don’t remember what you like, so you’ll just have to tell me how I’m doing.”

Bucky steps forward right into Steve’s personal space and then Bucky’s hands are on Steve’s waist. Bucky’s eyes travel all over Steve’s face and Steve can’t move. He just stands there sweating and blushing hard under Bucky’s gaze, feeling like a pervert and a failure.

Steve’s frozen as Bucky cups a hand to Steve’s jaw, leaning in to place the softest kiss on Steve’s lips. Steve only partially kisses back - or more accurately he tries not to and just gives in and returns the kiss at the very end, just as Bucky’s pulling away.

Bucky’s mouth is still a breath away as his other hand travels down Steve’s body starting at his collar bone and stopping at his waistband. Then his hand drops to Steve’s crotch and presses gently against the denim and it draws a gasp.

He’s not hard, but that’s due to the sheer amount he’s concentrating on _not_ getting hard. He knows he can’t do this. He feels awful. It’s not right. 

“Bucky,” Steve says, but he sounds so unsure. It’s not a command to stop, more like a hoarse whisper.

“Mmm hmm,” Bucky says, his eyes half closed, his lips still next to Steve’s.

“Bucky --Buck. Stop. Please.” Steve’s words are sure this time. As much as it feels like heaven to have Bucky’s hands on him, this isn’t right.

“Why? Is something wrong?” But Bucky doesn’t sound in the slightest bit alarmed.

Steve takes a last second to enjoy how Bucky feels against him because he knows once he tells the truth he won’t get this chance again.

“Yes. Bucky. Stop! You have to stop. You’re not my boyfriend. We’re not dating. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said-- I didn’t know how else to explain why I was there.”

That still doesn’t explain why Steve saw Bucky fall, why he rushed to his apartment to help. But it’s doesn’t seem to matter, not to Bucky. Bucky just smiles a slow, lazy smile and places a small kiss on the side of Steve’s lips.

“Bucky, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said and I should have told you sooner --”

“Steve, it’s okay. I know.”

“You--What?”

“I know. I figured it out. I got a bump on the head, not a lobotomy. I remember you from the shop. I remember your smile, just not the rest.” He places his palm on Steve’s chest and looks into his eyes. “And I’m certain I’d remember the rest.”

“Bucky,” Steve says and then runs out of steam. He’s astonished by how well Bucky’s taking it, but then he thinks about the events of the past hour. “Wait, you knew? When did you know?”

“When I got back to my place this morning. I slept pretty well for a guy with a concussion,” Bucky tells him, “Weird dreams though. The doc was pissed when I discharged myself, but I feel okay. He asked me if my boyfriend was collecting me and I got confused - I thought I’d dreamt you. He described you and showed me my file where you’d signed - I think that made him much more concerned for my health, to be honest. I know the name Steve Rogers, of course, but with a fuzzy head I couldn’t quite put it all together. Then I googled you when I got back.” He smiles a wicked grin. “Once I saw your photo I instantly remembered that hot blond who lives across the street, who doesn’t close his blinds after he showers, who comes into my shop and blushes and mumbles. How would I ever forget _that_ guy.”

Steve just blinks at him, his mouth opening and closing like a stupefied goldfish. Steve’s brain is stuck around Bucky describing him as _that hot blond_ when Bucky’s kissing him again, just a little peck on the lips before he grins.

“So you-- you know who I am? You know we live across the street from each other?”

“Yeah,” he grins. “I’m a total perve. I got a crush on my neighbour who I sometimes watch from across the street. I get a little thrill when he comes into my coffee shop. I know his order but I always ask. I like asking his name every day and I often daydream of writing my number on his coffee cup.”

Steve’s astonished but elated. He can’t quite get his head around the fact that not only is Bucky not mad at him for spying on him, but he’s been doing similar this whole time.

“I can’t believe it. You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be? You brought me to hospital. You saved me.”

“I broke into your apartment.”

“To save me.” He runs his finger along the collar of Steve’s shirt playfully. “Kinda glad you saw me knock that box over, even if it’s not exactly my most suave or cool moment of my life. But it got you over there, right? Probably worth the head injury.”

Steve can’t help but laugh. “Wait,” he says, “if you knew we aren’t dating, why the hell did you just do _that_ down the phone?” He blushes again and curses his pale skin.

“Why the hell not?” he murmurs. “I kept thinking you’d stop me. I read about you and I know you’re a good guy. I thought you might stop me and tell me the truth, but then I didn’t want you to make me stop.” He looks at Steve again, his eyes dark, lips parted. “Didn’t want to.”

“Didn’t want you to stop,” Steve admits.

Steve can’t take his eyes off Bucky’s mouth, his full bottom lip bitten red and gorgeous. His proximity to Bucky makes him give in to everything he’s been wanting for so long, so he kisses Bucky, for real this time. 

It’s soft but firm, his mouth fitting to Bucky’s. Bucky’s lips move back against his, and it’s slow at first but when Steve gains confidence and momentum he tilts his head. He opens his mouth, and they slot together even closer, better. Bucky slides his tongue into Steve’s mouth and it’s glorious. Bucky is an amazing kisser, and as they kiss Bucky’s hands move from Steve’s waist to his chest to his arms, exploring.

Steve’s almost too cautious to explore, to touch him. Almost. He’s wanted it for so long and now Bucky’s here and in person, not across the street or in a coffee shop, so he begins to move his hands. He places his palms on Bucky’s hips first, on the denim of his jeans. He shifts a little at the touch and his breath hitches against Steve’s mouth when he trails one hand up over flat stomach muscles. He sneaks the other hand around to Bucky’s ass and gently squeezes. A little moan escapes, and it makes Steve gasp in return as a bolt of excitement runs through him.

With a hand on Bucky’s ass he can pull him forward, and considering Steve’s got his back to the wall he winds up pinned there with Bucky pressed against him, their hips pressed together.

And oh God, as much as it’s just been kissing until now, pushed up together makes it a whole different game. 

Bucky seems to feel it too, he smiles into the kiss, a grin that feels wicked and playful. The kisses turn to long, deep, hot kisses which both raise the temperature and gives Steve a second to catch his breath.

Steve’s still pressed against the wall, and after so long of looking at Bucky from afar, he’s only too happy to be pinned there, with nowhere to go, not that he’d want to anyway. Bucky’s body is warm through his clothes and Steve can feel the hard muscle where they touch.

Then Bucky’s hands are on Steve’s skin, on his belly under his shirt, warm palms moving up and over Steve’s ribs. The touch is so gentle that it tickles and makes Steve giggle. Bucky just grins and pulls back enough that he can ruck Steve’s shirt up further, so that it’s up under his armpits. Bucky keeps pulling though, and Steve takes the hint and lifts his arms so that Bucky can pull the shirt off completely. 

The pace they move at is very quick and, if it were anyone other than Bucky, going from kissing to undressing in ten minutes flat would be a no-no to Steve. But after so long watching Bucky from afar, Steve can’t get enough.

He feels exposed, though. Especially when Bucky takes a step back so that he can look Steve over. Bucky’s blue eyes raking over Steve’s skin makes him feel vulnerable, but the more Bucky looks at him, the more Steve likes it. When Bucky reaches out and presses his fingertips to Steve’s ribs, Steve shivers a little. 

He likes the feeling of Bucky’s hands on his bare skin, and he wants to know what it will feel like the other way around. What will it feel like to get his hands on Bucky’s bare chest, to trail his hands to Bucky’s naked back?

Bucky’s still just wearing the tank top, and he’s more than willing to let Steve pull it up - he stands there with his arms in the air like a child who doesn’t know who to dress himself - but when he’s half naked, he rushes forward again and wraps his arms around Steve. 

Skin on skin kissing is delicious. Everything is slowed down for a moment as they carefully kiss. Steve strokes Bucky’s ribs and feels soft skin under his fingers. In turn, Bucky mouths at Steve’s neck. It makes Steve squirm and arch, and Steve wants Bucky to bite him, sink his teeth in, suck a hickey the size of a tennis ball - even if Steve doesn’t bruise for long, he wants one. Bucky’s mouth feels amazing, and when Steve pinches Bucky’s nipples and rubs his fingers over the hardening nubs, Bucky bites down hard on a tendon, sending shockwaves of pleasure right to Steve’s cock. Bucky reciprocates by moving his mouth to Steve ear and tugging on a earlobe, holding it between his teeth. 

Steve could play like this for hours, only too happy to explore Bucky’s body, but when he threads his hand into Bucky’s hair, Bucky hisses.

“Head injury, remember?” he says, and Steve winces.

“Yeah. You, uh. You sure about this?”

“You mean am I sure I want to climb into bed with my hot neighbour? Or do you mean is a head injury clouding my judgement?”

Steve blinks at him. He means both but he doesn’t say as much because Bucky kisses him again.

“I want this, Steve. So, stop worrying.” He takes Steve’s hand and tugs him towards the room off Steve’s living room - the bedroom. There, he walks Steve backwards, hands on Steve’s fly, pulling down the zipper, easing his hands inside. “I want you”

Steve swallows down a moan when Bucky drops to his knees to pull Steve’s jeans down. Steve has thought about Bucky like this, he’s daydreamed about it, _yearned_ for it. And now he’s got Bucky on his knees with his shirt off and this is happening and Steve’s not sure he’s prepared. He puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder to steady himself as Bucky stripps him of his shoes, socks and pants. 

Then Bucky smiles up a him from his position on the floor, a wicked grin that turns the blood in Steve’s veins to fire. He leans forward and presses a kiss to the front of Steve’s thigh. Then another kiss further up, and then another right where Steve’s underwear begins.

“You comin’ back up here?” 

“Haven’t decided yet,” Bucky says and, god, Steve might never get over how gorgeous Bucky looks like this.

Bucky hooks his fingers into the waistband of Steve’s underwear and pulls them down. The cool air makes his skin prickle, but the close proximity of Bucky to his dick is Steve’s only real thought. Bucky places another little kiss on Steve’s thigh, then the crease of his groin and then at the very top of Steve’s pubic hair. 

Steve stands stock-still, fists balled at his side, breathing hard, while Bucky continues placing little kisses all over Steve’s upper thighs and groin. When Bucky finally closes his mouth over the head of Steve’s dick, Steve huffs out a moan. His legs feel shaky, but he manages to stand his ground while Bucky does a frankly obscene thing with his tongue, sucking and swirling it round in a way that makes Steve moan and feel like he’s losing his mind.

Out of nowhere, Bucky sinks down low so that his lips touch the base of Steve’s dick. Steve feels the bump as the head of his cock hits the back of Bucky’s throat and Steve can’t help the moans that tumble from his mouth as Bucky sucks hard, swallowing around him. It makes it all the better to hear the happy slurps and gasps that Bucky makes; he sounds like he’s enjoying himself and it’s ridiculously sexy.

Steve can feel himself getting closer to orgasm, but he’s still wound up so tight, his hands still in tight fists. He reminds himself to let go, to enjoy this. He deserves this, because Buck wants it too. And when he does relax, he feels the pleasure coming in waves, inching him closer to his peak.

He’s so close, so so close, when Bucky pulls off and sits back at heels to look back up at Steve. Steve feels like he might cry.

“I don’t really want you to finish in my mouth,” Bucky says. His voice sounds shot and so, so gorgeous, so beautiful that Steve instantly forgives him for stopping.

“Where do you want me to come?” Steve says, because Steve really has to come, really, really.

“Inside me, just not yet.”

“I can do both! I can come now and after. It’s, uh, the serum. I can reload pretty quick.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, wide eyed. “Well, in that case...sit down and I’ll finish you.”

Steve lies on the bed with his legs positioned at the edge, Bucky kneeling on the floor. He spreads Steve’s thighs and gets back to work. This time he concentrates on sucking the head and holding the shaft in one hand while massaging Steve’s balls with the other. The result is phenomenal and Steve’s moaning and mumbling instantly, and then coming down Bucky’s throat shortly after.

Steve lies there seeing stars for a moment while his heart tries to escape his chest and he tries to reign in his breathing. His eyes are closed but he feels the mattress shift as Bucky climbs on. Even with his eyes still closed, Steve’s hands find Bucky’s hips, his thighs. Bucky’s naked now too.

Bucky straddles him, leans down to kiss him, his hair falling forward and creating a shelter around them, blocking out the rest of the world. Steve cups a hand to the back of Bucky’s neck and pulls him down to kiss him harder.

They kiss and kiss until Steve’s hips are pushing upwards against Bucky and Bucky is rubbing himself against Steve’s thigh.

Carefully, Steve opens Bucky up, finger by finger, alternating by kissing him and pulling back to gauge his reaction by the pleasured looks on his face. There’s an intense intimacy to it, one that only reminds Steve just how far they’ve come from just strangers sharing a transaction in a coffee shop.

When Bucky’s good and prepped, Steve rolls a condom on. His hands are shaking and Bucky winds up helping him which just leads to more kissing.

Bucky lies on his back with Steve between his legs. Steve eases down with his weight braced on one arm, his other hand on himself as he inches closer to Bucky’s hole and guides himself inside incrementally. 

Bucky huffs out a deep breath which turns into a long moan. Steve feels it too, a thread of fierce pleasure running through him, then into Bucky and back again. Steve is unmoving inside him. They’re just locked together, two jigsaw pieces that make up a whole.

Bucky moves first, canting his hips up towards Steve slowly and then Steve moves in turn. It’s a slow drag in and out that sends soft shudders through Steve’s entire body. So he does it again, pulling back, sliding out of Bucky, and then pushing all the way back in, slowly, slowly. 

Bucky pulls him down to kiss him, to stroke his face and neck, and it means that they’re chest to chest. Steve can feel Bucky’s torso heaving as his breathing gets shallower and the sounds that tumble from his mouth range from little moans and gasps to all-out groans. 

Steve sits back up tall to give him leverage to drive into Bucky harder. His plan is thwarted somewhat when Bucky sits up too, hooking his arm around Steve’s neck and kissing him hard, moaning into his mouth as he climbs into Steve’s lap. He rides Steve as they move together, kissing and touching and moving closer towards orgasm.

They stay like that until Steve needs more leverage, friction. He leans forward again, tipping Bucky onto the bed, then he hooks one of Bucky’s legs over his shoulder and goes hell for leather, fucking hard into Bucky, snapping his hips forward again and again.

Bucky’s lost to it, writhing under Steve, chanting a chorus of _”Yes, yes! More!”_ He looks so beautiful and so undone. He bites on his lip and then runs his tongue over it. He clutches the sheets with one hand, the other digging deep into Steve’s thigh. The pornographic sounds he’s making keep growing until he’s coming with one long groan.

It knocks Steve over the edge, too, and he comes for the second time today, this time deep inside Bucky.

“That was...” Bucky mumbles, but he never finishes his sentence.

“It was.”

Steve makes a move to get up, to remove himself from where he collapsed on top of Bucky, but Bucky holds him there. There’s no power in his grip, all energy spent from his orgasm, but the intent is there and Steve lets Bucky guide him into a soft kiss. 

Then Steve does move, peels himself off Bucky, taking hold of the ring of the condom as he pulls out. He can feels Bucky’s eyes on him as he pads across his bedroom to toss the rubber in the trash. He really wants to get back into bed with Bucky, but he’s not used to the etiquette of afternoon-delights with recent victims of head trauma, so he’s not certain if he should just go grab a shower and leave Bucky alone, or perhaps just pull on some clothes.

Again, he gives in to what he wants and climbs back into bed with Bucky, still naked. 

Bucky looks gorgeous, lying there in a post-coital haze, and Steve really can’t believe this is real. Bucky catches Steve staring and quirks a questioning eyebrow at him, so Steve just leans down and kisses him again.

“So, how long you been spying on me?” Bucky says, but his tone is playful.

“I don’t know. How long you been living across the street?” Steve admits.

“Only that long? Not before? When you came into my store and drank my coffee?” 

“Yeah. I mighta been in a couple times before you moved across the street from me. But you make good coffee.”

“I do. So, um, did you see much from across the street? I could never see that much, but I knew when you were home, knew when you were there.”

“I have very good eyesight, all part of my enhancements. I could see plenty, but I always tried not to look.”

Bucky grins. “Oh, really? What did you not look at?”

Steve blushes. “I saw you work out. You lift pretty heavy, but you need to fix your posture or you’ll ruin your back.”

“I see. Anything else?”

“Saw you trying on clothes,” Steve admits, and he feels a little heat in his belly when he thinks of that time he saw Bucky standing naked in his kitchen. 

“In my bedroom? When I got the underwear I ordered? Didn’t think you could see my bedroom from here.”

Steve laughs. “No. Not that time. Though that sounds like a very nice view indeed. You got shirts and pants. You were in the kitchen.”

“Oh,” says Bucky knowingly. “I remember that day.”

“Yeah, _that_ day,” Steve counters. “You said you knew I don’t close my blinds after I shower, so you must have noticed something more than my just being home?”

“Yeah, that. It’s hard not to to notice a huge, hot guy walking around practically naked. My eyesight does not need to be enhanced to see something like that. I just, y’know, couldn’t see the details until I got up close.” Steve grins at him. “So, when I fell, did you see me because you were spying on me?”

“I wasn’t spying...but I wasn’t quite minding my own business either.”

“Glad to hear it. Feel free to continue not minding your own business.”

“I’ll do my best.”

There’s another long moment of silence between them, something unspoken in the way that Bucky looks at him. Steve can’t decipher it, but it likes it a lot. He’s also a big fan of the way that Bucky shifts a little, shuffling closer to him.

“Why did you never talk to me? In the store, why didn’t you say anything. I served you plenty.”

Steve’s been wondering this for as long as he’s been going to Bucky’s coffee shop. “I don’t know,” he says. “I guess I was afraid you’d say no or I’d mess it up, or you wouldn’t want to go out with someone with as much baggage as I do.”

“Hey, man, we all got baggage, okay?”

Steve gives him a smile. “Why did you never talk to me?”

“I’ve been working in the store for a long time. Since long before I owned the place. And the longer I’ve worked there, the more I’ve been able to get to know my customers. I can spot someone who wants to be left alone. You came in with your head down, baseball cap pulled low and sat in the corner by yourself. If that doesn’t scream _leave me alone_ I don’t know what does.”

Steve gives him another smile because that really makes quite a lot of sense. He did, in fact, want people to leave him alone - everyone but Bucky.

“I know it’s early,” Bucky says, “and you can kick me out if you want, but I’m still kinda beat. Can I have a nap here?”

“Oh, sure, of course,” Steve soothes. He had actually forgotten that Bucky is supposed to be taking it easy and recovering and not having his brains fucked out. Steve has every intention of joining Bucky for that nap, though.

Bucky settles on his side, facing away from Steve, but he glances back around briefly, and Steve takes that as his invitation to snuggle down beside Bucky and spoon him.

“Hey, so did you give me mouth to mouth?” Bucky asks, teasing.

“No! You didn’t stop breathing. You got knocked out. No need for mouth to mouth..”

“Did you think about it?” Bucky says, giggling this time.

“Maybe.”

Steve pulls him close and kisses the back of his neck, careful not to touch against Bucky’s wound. Just as he’s settling in and Bucky’s linking his fingers with Steve’s, Steve’s phone rings.

Ordinarily Steve would ignore it, but the ringtone that plays, _Highway to Hell_ , the one set on his phone by Sam, means he has no choice but to answer it. He groans and drops his head to Bucky’s shoulder. He knows that it’s a work call, an urgent one, and that he’s going to have to leave this little nest of bliss and soft skin and Bucky. He knows he might not get to come home for days on end.

“That’s work.”

Bucky looks unphased. 

“So I gotta answer it,” Steve continues. “And I probably have to go. And maybe not come back for a couple days.”

“That’s okay,” Bucky says, cool as anything. “I can let myself out, no problem.”

Steve kisses him again as his phone continues to blast AC/DC through the room. As soon as he picks up the call this has to end - for now at least - so he wants the memory of one last, lingering kiss to take with him to whatever battle he has to go fight.

Steve detangles himself grudgingly and answers his phone. He half listens and just picks up _attack_ and _assemble right away_. 

He ends the call with a heavy heart, especially when he glances back at his bed and Bucky is lying naked on the sheets looking breathtakingly beautiful. He pulls on clean underwear, a fresh shirt and finds his jeans from the floor.

“When I get back, do you wanna go on a proper date? Can I take you out?”

Bucky smiles at him, lazy and gorgeous. ”Yeah,” he says, “You can take me out for coffee.”


End file.
